Turning A New Leaf
by jinglebellsisawesome
Summary: When a young woman finds herself in Middle Earth, she thinks that its nothing more than a simple hallucination. However, she soon finds out that there's more to this than meets the eye and she finds herself having to fight to stay alive. 10th Walker
1. Ringwraiths and Unexpected Guests

Disclaimer: I do not own _Lord of the Rings_, either the movie trilogy or the books. They are rights and responsibilities of the two geniuses: Peter Jackson and J.R.R Tolkien. I own nothing but my OC. This story was made for entertainment and not for profit. I will try and update once a week (I hope so...)

A/N: I haven't really done much FanFiction in a while so bear with me. I hope you like this.

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><p>Chapter One: Ringwraiths and Unexpected Guests<p>

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><p>Frodo Baggins lay down on the hard jagged floor for a few moments rest. The cool night air brushed his being every so often sending chills running up and down his spine.<p>

He and his dear friends had been jogging hastily all day, trying desperately to outrun the nine evil Ringwraiths that were hot on their trail. Their faces were wrought with dirt and grime and with a fearful gleam in their eyes as they ran for their lives. The scent of dust mingled with the aroma of the shaking trees filled their senses whilst also giving them a slight breeze as they struggled on into the vast unknown.

Until at long last, they had finally come upon the banks of Weathertop – where Strider, as though sensing the hobbits' exhaustion, had allowed them some rest for the time being whilst he went off into the night. But not before giving them each a sword to protect themselves with.

It hadn't taken long for Frodo to fall asleep; the events of the day had been far too exhilarating for anything less – and for once, the threat of the One Ring did not play on his mind at all that night.

So it was surprising when he found himself cruelly awoken in the middle of the night to hushed chatter.

It wasn't the sound of the Ring, the dark, deep sound was difficult to resist and even more difficult to ignore. No, this was something else.

"_Want a tomato, Sam?"_

Frodo abruptly turned around to be faced with the three figures of his friends, each huddled around a small fire, with food in a frying pan held over the crispy fire, flames dancing around the edges, taunting it.

"What are you doing?" Frodo cried. His voice was filled with dread and fear.

It was Merry who answered. "Tomatoes, sausages, nice crispy bacon," he said.

Frodo scrambled to his feet.

"We saved some for you, Mr Frodo." Sam held out a plate to him.

He ignored him. "Put it out you fools!" He stamped on the fire with his feet in a vain attempt to stop it. "Put it out!"

"Well, that's nice," Pippin stated sarcastically, unaware of the danger they were in, "Ash on my tomatoes!"

Suddenly, there was a deafening screech that could only have come from one thing.

The Ringwraiths were coming.

Frodo unsheathed his sword and ordered the others to go, each brandishing their own weapon of defense, and they all scrambled up to the top of Weathertop.

Frodo managed to swipe a small glance over the edge and to his horror saw four black figures in hoods striding meaningfully towards them.

He ran.

The four hobbits all banded together in the middle of the circle of pillars, back to back, each holding their swords in front of them as more of a shield than a weapon. The stench of their fear and panting were evident to Frodo who was doing his best to conceal it.

Suddenly, Frodo's pale blue eyes caught sight of one of the Nazgŭl climbing up the stairs with all the air of authority, his long sword held out in front of him. Frodo could see his own reflection in the glassy metal. He shivered.

Five more of the ghastly Men came in pursuit of the One Ring, each unsheathing their own swords, ready to strike down anything and everything that comes in their way.

The small hobbits started stumbling backwards in a desperate effort to escape the clutches of the enemy. Their hunched figures so close together they could almost taste each other's breath on their pale faces.

The Nazgŭl came closer still, their swords pointed and poised in perfect harmony towards the Ringbearer.

Sam swiped at the advancing figures with his sword, his face set in grim determination. "Back, you devils!" He cursed, although the attempt had been futile. The Nazgŭl simply pushed him to the side where his head connected rather forcefully with a large rock.

The nearest Nazgŭl reached forward and, with perfect accuracy, tossed Merry and Pippin aside as if they had been nothing more than a couple of old discarded rag dolls which had served their purpose.

Frodo, who was now shocked beyond words and also fearful, dropped his sword in fright and retreated slowly until the backs of his hairy feet made contact with an abandoned old rock and he stumbled over, whimpering a little in protest.

Now on the ground, Frodo searched for the Ring, who was calling to him in the Black Speech, and he pulled it out of his breast pocket. He felt the unmistakable pull of the Ring, urging him to put it on, to reveal himself to Him. Frodo was so exhausted that he let himself fall prey to the Ring, surrendering himself to It. He slipped the cool metal over his forefinger and felt himself slip into the Ring's vision.

When he glanced up, he could see the bodies of the Ringwraiths all around him, cloaked in only white, with their snow-white crowns glorifying them. Their faces were old, ancient, menacing in their tone; but there was something else there. Exhaustion? Fear? Even boredom? Frodo did not know and did not have the will to debate this.

Frodo felt the compulsion of the Ring to these enemies in front of him, the Ring seeing it as a way to get back to its Master. The Ringwraith held out its hand and Frodo felt his be drawn to it, the magnetic pull between the two too painful to ignore. After all; why shouldn't he give it over? It was his choice – not Strider's, not Sam's or Merry and Pippin's. It was _his _burden and he was tired. So, so tired and the Ring understood this, it had given the exhausted hobbit a way out of his horrible predicament. _Give it over and you shall have the peace you so desperately crave…_

Their hands were almost touching now and Frodo felt hair width distance to be nearly unmanageable to withhold. _Just one more and you shall be at peace in your tranquil state if you just give me to them…_

_Now!_

"No!"

A voice broke out amidst the compulsion, severing the link between Servant and Master.

"Stop!"

The cry was accompanied by the weight of a heavy rock smashing against the head of the Ringwraith. It let out a terrible shriek, causing Frodo's hand to pull back in recoil. The Ringwraith turned deadly, the angry glint in its eye a dead giveaway, before the sharp stinging sensation of the tip of a sword connecting with Frodo's shoulder. He let out a cry full of pain.

He felt rather than saw the next rock whack into the side of the Ringwraith, thus withdrawing the sword from Frodo's pained shoulder. Frodo yanked the Ring off of his finger with a groan of pain, before it made him do something else that would result in another agonising injury.

The thrower was soon accompanied by a whoosh of fire and the clanging of metal on metal from a sword that could have only been from Strider. Striding to the rescue, Frodo noted dimly amidst all the pain, as always.

"Frodo!" A familiar voice cried, running over to his limp and fatigued figure, ignoring all the shouts and cries from the fighting.

"Oh, Sam," Frodo moaned. He was truly grateful for the comfort of his dear friend by his side, as he always would be.

Strider fumbled nimbly with his sword whilst waving his torch around like a Wildman, scaring off all the unwelcome visitors. Merry and Pippin, who had awoken sometime during the fight, scrambled over to their two friends.

After throwing the flaming torch in the last Ringwraith's face, the Nazgŭl retreated in defeat.

Frodo moaned in pain.

"Strider," Sam yelled. "Help him, Strider!"

Strider picked up the blade that had been left behind when the Nazgŭl departed. The blade turned to ash when he touched it. "He has been stabbed by a Morgul blade," he said grimly, dropping the blade back down to the ground with a clang. "This is beyond my skill to heal. He needs Elvish medicine." He made a move to lift the injured hobbit up but stopped when he felt a hand limply grasp his arm loosely.

"Wait," Frodo gasped. "There was someone throwing. Throwing the rocks…"

Strider frowned.

"…They saved my life," he finished.

"It's true," Merry stated.

"She was throwing the rocks," Pippin continued.

"Yeah— Wait… How do you know it was a she?"

"I don't know. She had long hair!"

"So? Lots of men I know have long hair."

"Oh yeah," argued Pippin. "And how would you know?"

Merry made a move to retort but Strider cut him off, "Where is this woman now?"

Merry and Pippin pointed in opposite directions. "That way," they said in unison.

Strider opened his mouth to respond but before he could do so, the sound of light crunching filled the air followed by a soft, surprised gasp in the middle of two pillars to the left.

"Told you it was a She," Pippin jabbed at Merry proudly.

Giving a warning look to Pippin, the Ranger put his forefinger to his mouth in a gesture of silence as he carefully drew his sword. He softly and quietly tiptoed over to the left side, his bright blade held in the firm grip of his left hand.

Peering over the edge of the left pillar, he was met immediately with the bright blue-green eyes of the hesitant woman in front of him.

The unwelcome visitor gave a start and made an attempt to run away but Strider, with his keen eyes and sharp reflexes, caught the timid woman before she so much as turned around.

"She wears strange clothing…" Pippin stated. He was not wrong.

She was clothed in strange dressings. A weird piece of white clothing that looked sort of like a dress, with funny blue spots on it. She looked to be around seventeen years old, at least by Pippin's reckoning. She looked to be of Hobbit heritage. She had the ears and the height but one glance at her feet revealed that she had no hair on them, which was very odd. All in all, she didn't look particularly dangerous or threatening, not someone that Pippin would have thought as one of Sauron's spies. But looks can be deceiving, as his ma had always taught him.

However, Pippin noticed that it wasn't hair that was placed atop her head; it was some kind of..._fabric_ that was put up in something that resembled a ponytail.

Strider dragged her behind him by the unusual clothing that decorated her being and smashed her forcefully into the rock pillar and held his strong blade to her pale throat mercilessly.

"Who are you?" He demanded urgently.

"Alice Rowyce," she answered with an accent any of the hobbits had ever heard the likes of before. "My name is Alice Rowyce."

"Why were you following us?"

"I- I…"

The cool metal cut deeper into the young woman's slender throat. Tiny specks of blood began to grace her skin but she didn't cry out.

"Tell us!"

The dam finally broke and the clear liquid began to cascade down her face in tidal waves. "I don't know. I was just in the hospital, just getting my medication and then I have somehow ended up here." Here, the strange woman broke off to gasp for breath and she glanced around in confusion, "I still don't know where _here_ is anyway." She paused. "I then met those cloaked figures and they tried to have me killed and they would have if they hadn't seen that fire you guys had lit."

Sam, Merry and Pippin all glanced away in shame at that last part.

"…So I followed them and then I met you guys." The cloak-head girl said.

Strider opened his mouth to question her motives further, but before he could do so Frodo let loose a terrible moan of pain.

"Strider," Sam cried. The fear the young hobbit felt for his friend stood out like a sore thumb.

Withdrawing his blade from the frightened woman in front of him, with nothing more than a "We'll deal with you later"; Strider turned his attention to the wounded hobbit on the ground.

He picked him up, hefting him over one shoulder.

"Wait a minute," the girl – Alice– interrupted, her eyes growing wide. "He wasn't there a minute ago. He just… appeared out of thin air!" She frowned in suspicion.

"Yeah," it was Pippin who answered her unspoken question, "He does that."

Alice laughed without mirth. "This is some messed-up hallucination."

Pippin frowned. "What is a hall-you-cin-ate-ion?"

She opened her mouth to respond but Strider cut her off before she could utter a syllable.

"We leave for Rivendell immediately."

"What, all of us?" Merry asked, peeping at the girl, Alice.

"Yes, all of us," he nodded. "Now hurry! We will arrive in six days."

"But he may not have six days!" It was the curly blonde hobbit who spoke up out of concern for his friend who made a sound someone between a cry and a groan. "He'll never make it."

The anxiety and worry etched onto the tall man's face helped to ease Alice's troubled mind a little. At least he seemed to have some form of emotions and wouldn't just kill her on a whim, as she had first expected.

And with that thought in mind, Alice Rowyce, the girl from Earth with the strangest hallucination the history of hallucinations headed off with her newfound allies…along with the occasional piercing shriek of the Ringwraiths that filled their eardrums with the promise of what would happen should they fall behind.


	2. Journeying To Rivendell

A/N: Thanks so much for the follows/favourites/reviews. They really mean a lot to me and I apologise for the lateness of this chapter (over a month since I last updated. I am so sorry). Also, just to mention, Alice is not your typical OC; she doesn't know anything about the LOTR 'verse. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

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><p>Chapter Two: Journeying To Rivendell<p>

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><p>Everyone was silent as they travelled, nobody was saying anything for fear of telling the female stranger more than she should now. Even Merry and Pippin were dead silent, only speaking out every so often for food or just to generally annoy one another.<p>

However, there had been Frodo's unbearable suffering that consistently broke the silence. His moans and occasional whisperings to a being that was never there certainly provided some noise; albeit not a nice one. Though Frodo was taken away by a seemingly young, rather pretty, Elf named Arwen. Alice was a bit hesitant at first, after all, she had never seen an _Elf_ before, but Strider seemed to trust her and Alice had quickly found herself trusting his judgement. He was something of an authority figure, reminding her of what her school teachers were like.

But that was Before. And now they were in the After - journeying to some place Alice had long since forgotten the name of. Strider had mentioned the pretty Elf again and Alice was faintly surprised at the distant look in his eye whenever he spoke about her. It looked a lot like love- no, maybe not love, _fondness_. Everyone had taken some kind of Oath of Silence and not one of them would even so much as _look_ the human-turned-Hobbit in the eye.

It was evening now and the five of them were all huddled around a small fire, reduced to a few mutterings and the crackling of licking flames.

Finally, Alice had had enough. "So, is anyone going to say where we're going?"

Everyone's heads whipped around so fast she was surprised that it didn't give them whiplash. Even Strider cocked his head in her direction but otherwise displayed no other emotion apart from annoyance. However, he did answer her question, turning his head away to their supply of food.

"'Tis Rivendell."

Alice arched a brow. "And that is...?"

Merry and Pippin both gawked at the female whilst Sam raised his eyebrows so high they were almost touching the sky. "You've never heard of Rivendell?" Pippin spoke in an exasperated whisper.

"No," Alice started, unsure. "What is it?"

This time it was brave young Samwise Gamgee to speak up. "It's where the Elves live, Miss. In a big city that's so grand and so full of wonder that you daren't leave."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah, everything's wonderful. Especially the green food," Merry muttered sarcastically. Alice almost laughed at the depressed grimace on his face, though Pippin beat her to it.

"Just be glad it's food, eh, Merry," Pippin smirked. Merry smacked the grinning Hobbit on the arm lightly and the pair engaged in a little hand-to-hand combat that was broken only by the harshness of Strider's voice.

"Get to sleep, you lot. We have a busy day ahead of us."

The three male Hobbits all obliged Strider's wishes; however, Alice, as though she had a death wish, decided to converse with the stern man. "Um, Strider, is Rivendell like that?"

There was no answer, though Alice wasn't really counting on one. Still, she persisted. "What's Rivendell like? I mean, I've never been before and I just want to know what to expect." There was a pregnant pause. "What are Elves like, Strider?"

_That_ stirred the man from his feigned ignorance. Propping himself up on his elbows, he turned around and cocked his head in her direction. "Why do you ask me? Sam here has told you all you need to know."

"Well, it just looked like you had personal dealings with the Elves, especially when that female one came and took..._Frodo_, was it, away."

Strider simply stared at the young female, trying to figure out what her motives were. Alice felt herself shrinking under his scrutinizing gaze; she felt almost naked under his piercing stare. After what seemed like an eternity, he laid back down and closed his eyes again, but not saying, "I can't figure out whether you're generally curious or if you are just trying my patience."

He was expecting some kind of retort back (after all, in the three days they had known one another, Strider had come to recognise the fiery temperament that surrounded the young Hobbit) but instead she simply shook her head sadly, a strange glint of hidden pain in her auburn orbs. "I know."

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><p>"Look sharp, Miss Alice. 'Tis be Rivendell."<p>

As if rehearsed, Merry and Pippin suddenly burst out into a chorus of excited murmurs and wide-eyed expressions. Alice felt herself smiling unconsciously at the two Hobbits - they reminded her of her two younger brothers back home.

However, all that was forgotten as soon as she saw the city of Elves. It was incredibly _beautiful_ - it was almost surreal. She finally got what Sam had said the night before about Rivendell. It truly was an exceptional place.

"Oh my God," she whispered, eyes holding proverbial stars. "It's _amazing_."

Alice barely felt the nudge from Pippin as he smirked at her. "What did we tell you? It's beautiful."

"Yeah, it really is..."

"Come on," Strider announced from in front of them, calling over his shoulder at them where they were gazing at the city in adoration. "We're nearly there."

Walking around the Elven city, Alice felt her eyes wondering and scanning everything they found in their path. There were fountains, small markets with what she guessed where Elvish citizens (if the pointy ears were anything to go by) buying and selling fruit and vegetables and some other antiques. _God, it's like Antiques Roadshow_ _here_.

It was exactly how the young female had imagined Heaven to be like. Peaceful and full of smiling faces and simply _beautiful_. She felt a grin appear on her face as she looked around; this place was truly amazing.

"Come on, Miss Alice," she heard Sam call out from in front.

"I'm comin-"

Alice stopped abruptly, clutching her stomach as she felt the familiar, acidic taste burn through her throat. Clamping a hand across her mouth, she tried to staunch the flow of stomach that was steadily rising towards her mouth.

"Miss Alice, are you all right?"

She felt a hand on her shoulder as she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment as she forced the contents of bile back down to her stomach. She waited a few seconds before nodding, albeit a little hesitantly. "Yeah, I'm okay," she smiled weakly. "Come on, we'd better catch up with Strider and the others before we get left behind."

She could see the doubt in Sam's eyes as he released his hand but he didn't say any more on the matter, for which she was grateful. Now all she need was some water to wash away the taste and some milk to soothe away the burn, however, she wasn't sure whether they sold milk here in this unknown place._  
><em>

Strider led them into the main building (or what she assumed was the main building judging by the sheer size of it and its regal atmosphere) and the five of them began wondering down endless corridors. Alice kept her gaze focused on the walls and the embroidery she found there, however, she didn't let herself stray too far behind everyone else.

They walked down some more corridors and turned a few corners before finally they were greeted with the sight of a tall, aged Elf, carrying the air of a noble; an authority figure. This was the first time Alice had ever seen an..._Elf_ up close before and she found herself slightly uneasy (though wholeheartedly envious of their immortality and graceful presence).

"Lord Elrond," Strider said with a polite smile, tipping his head in a form of a bow.

"Ah, welcome Aragorn, son of Arathorn." The Lord smiled briefly at '_Aragorn_' but his smile soon turned quizzical as he turned to glance at the small Hobbits. "And who are these?"

"These are-"

Sam stepped forward a little hesitantly but with a sure confidence Alice yearned for. "Please, Mr Elrond, sir, we're friends of Frodo's. Can...can we see him?"

The Lord made a gesture to respond, however, before he could even open his mouth, another voice - a noticeable _aged,_ deep voice - spoke up from somewhere behind them.

"Why yes, of course you can, Samwise Gamgee. What makes you think you couldn't?"

Everyone spun around as quick as lightning to face whomever had made the comment. When their eyes fell upon the source, the young Hobbits grinned as wide as a Cheshire Cat and bundled towards the person. Even Strider and Elrond gave smiles in their direction.

Alice felt her eyes narrow in suspicion at this unexpected visitor. They were _definitely_ male; an old male, wearing a grey, pointy hat with matching robes. His tone of voice suggested an attitude of a 'know-it-all' but there was something warm in his voice, a characteristic that, against Alice's better judgement, found herself liking the old man almost unconsciously. However, Alice internally made the resemblance of the man as a cross between Dumbledore and an old Obi-Wan Kenobi.

"Gandalf!"

_Ah, Gandalf. Good to finally be able to put a name to the face._

"We thought something must have happened to you. Why weren't you at the _Prancing Pony_?"_  
><em>

Alice thought she saw something like pain flash in the old man's eyes before diminishing behind a warm smile. "A tale for another time, I think." His gaze wondered around before finally settling on the startled female. "And who have we here?"

She stepped forward, albeit a little uncertainly, and held out a small hand for the noticeable _taller_ man to take, although she had no idea how he could take it due to their height differences. "Alice Rowyce, pleased to meet you."

Gandalf somehow managed to take ahold of her hand and shake it. "And you, my dear. But from whence do you hail?"

Alice frowned as she released her hand from the older man's firm grasp. "What do you mean?"

"Where are you from?"

She tried to call the man's bluff. "What makes you think I'm not from here?"

"You have a foreign accent, and your clothes are very different from what can be found here on Middle-Earth, as well as the strange clothing on the top of your head."

Unconsciously, Alice touched the top of her head in surprise herself but when her hand felt the headscarf, her demeanour became more solemn and her eyes widened in recognition. "Oh."

"If you're not going to provide me with an answer, then answer me this," the man's tone became hard and unforgiving to match his demeanour. "How did you come upon this quest of ours?"

Alice felt her jaw drop. "I'm sorry, the _what_?"

Someone cleared their throat from behind them. "We hadn't told her anything, Gandalf." Alice recognized the voice as belonging to Strider's- no, _Aragorn_'s- and, although she couldn't see the man, she could practically sense the facepalm evident in his tone. "We were waiting for a more appropriate time."

"Ah," Gandalf said somewhat uncomfortably.

There was a pregnant pause. Alice had a thousand and one questions swimming through her head, all begging to be released. However, before she could say anything, as though sensing the young female's tirade of questions looming, Lord Elrond spoke up.

Clearing his throat, the man proposed, "Why don't I take you all to see your friend, and then we can discuss anything that needs to be discussed. I imagine that we all have a few questions that we need to ask."

Everyone nodded in agreement.

"Follow me then. Your friend, Frodo, is just down this way."


	3. Of Dreams and Nightmares

A/N: Thanks for the feedback everyone. They really help me so I hope that this chapter satisfies y'all. Also, this chapter is something of a filler but I have tried to show some more depth into Frodo's character and how he is dealing with the Ring as it is never fully specified in the film what happens before Gandalf and the others come in after he was stabbed.

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><p>Chapter Three: Of Dreams and Nightmares<p>

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><p><em>Frodo was gasping for air. The soot and smoke was burning his lungs and shredding his throat with every shaky breathe he took but he didn't care.<em>

_He was in the Shire, he realised with dread. But it didn't look anything like the green haven he knew and loved. No. All around him was covered in ash and fire, making everything look all that more daunting._

_He attempted to move but to no avail. His legs were trapped securely underneath a huge wooden door...or what was left of one anyway._

_Suddenly, he heard the faint but insistent call from the Ring on Frodo's finger. Straining down with glossy blue eyes, he tried to remove the cursed thing from his finger but it failed to even move an inch. 'It's like it has a Will of its own,' he mused as he began twisting the Ring to try and loosen it. But it was too strong. The Ring stayed there, unmoving and ready to pounce at any given moment._

_Frodo felt rather than saw the the Ringwraiths behind him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he prayed for a quick and easy death rather than a lifetime of agony a Morgul wound would give._

_However, something compelled him to open his eyes. A kind of whispering in his head, telling him, urging him,_ ordering_ him to snap his eyes open once again._

_A bright flame was in the distance of the Hobbit's vision, appearing to almost be sitting atop a long, dark tower; the kind you imagine belong in a long-forgotten fairy tale. Homes for unimaginable terror._

_All at once, the flame began to creep closer and closer to the poor Hobbit. He tried to turn away but found he could not. It was like there was something there forcing him to gaze into the unknown. An indescribable pull towards certain doom._

_In almost no time at all, the flame was upon him - but, upon closer inspection, found that it was not a flame, but in fact an eye. 'A _Great Eye_', the Ring supplied in a chilling manner. There was a thin slit in the middle of the flaming eye and, peering closer, Frodo found that it was in the shape of a Man._

_Indescribable terror gripped him then as he gasped from horror. The faint whispers - which had been almost silent up until now - shouted at him now, screaming obscenities at him in the Black Language of Mordor._

_The Ring started to grow immensely hot. Frodo cried out in agony. He started clawing at his skin, trying desperately to remove the Ring and save himself more pain._

_And then everything disappeared._

_Everything turned to black and Frodo found himself standing up and gazing around now that he was without bodily restraints._

_"Help," he cried, piercing through the thick darkness. "Help me!"_

_Voices soon answered his cry, whispering again something too low for his hearing. They grew louder once again. Frodo felt an intense heat (similar to what could only be described as a raging fire) on his back. Frodo felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end._

_Slowly, he turned around and found himself staring, yet again, into the Eye of Ultimate Doom._

_The voices were yelling at him, but this time speaking in a language he was all too familiar with. Westron: the Common Tongue._

_"Your fault," they shrieked at him, gradually getting louder and louder. Some were emotionless but some were spoken with pure rage._

_Frodo's eyes were latched on to the one right in front of him, still whispering in that deadly language. He felt his energy begin to drain away as he stared into it._

_"Your fault. It's your fault. All your fault. _Your _fault._"_  
><em>

_Frodo felt the last of his energy ebb away subtly and he found himself falling. Falling. Falling. Always falling._

_"Your fault. It's your fault. All your fault. _Your _fault._"

_Your fault._

Frodo awoke with a start. His body was decorated with a sheet of cold sweat that matted his raven hair. His brow was set in confusion. His glossed-over eyes were darting all around him, trying to take in his surroundings but not seeing anything.

_What happened? Where's the Great Eye? Where am I? _

He felt a hand grasp on to his shoulder and his whole body jerked away instinctively. He heard pieces of conversations and words being directed at him but it was like they were too far away for him to hold on to.

_"...damn it...hold on...it's going to be okay just stay with me..."_

When he felt their hand on his shoulder again, he reacted without question and he pushed them back with incredible strength. He was dimly aware of muffled sounds of pain but he paid them no heed. The dream kept recurring in his mind and anything and everything around him was pushed to the deepest corner of his mind as he tried to mentally fight of the remnants of his nightmare.

He was conscious of the fact that he was laying down in what he assumed was an Elven bed. A sudden, gut-wrenching panic took hold in him then and he felt his body shake in response.

_What if the Eye has taken over the Elves? What of my friends then?_

This thought spurred on a spike in his energy levels and he felt the strength to get out of the bed. However, as soon as he managed to position himself upright, he was knocked down rather forcefully by an unknown object.

_It's the Eye._

Frodo let out a growl as visions of his fellow Hobbits being beaten swam in his head. He lashed out in a vain attempt to get the thing off him but he was quickly overpowered. He stopped fighting, ready to overpower his opponent when the nearest opportunity arose.

He felt two arms secure themselves tightly around his midsection and he saw this as he chance to strike back. He fought and fought but no matter how hard he tried, he could not break free. The arms were coiling themselves tighter and a deep panic took over him. He struggled but it was futile.

He heard soothing words that did nothing to calm him down, however, he gradually felt his body relax into these lulling arms. His breathing started to regulate and his pounding heart settled back down to normality.

"It's okay," a voice whispered close to his ear. "You're okay. Everything's okay. Just keep breathing."

His eyelids soon became too heavy for him to keep open and he struggled to hold on against the impending sleep where the dreams were most likely to plague him once more.

"That's it," the voice encouraged. "Go to sleep. Everything'll be fine in the morning."

That was the last conscious thing he processed as his eyes snapped shut and his brain drifted into unconsciousness.

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><p>"That's it. You're okay. Everything's okay. Just keep breathing," Alice attempted to soothe this frail person in her arms. So far, she had proved successful in calming the poor man done. Now all she had to do was try and lure him to sleep.<p>

_Come on, Alice. How hard can that be?_

"That's it, go to sleep. Everything'll be fine in the morning," _even though it _is_ technically morning, but still_, Alice's cocky side persisted in informing her. She ignored it.

Soon enough, though, she felt his breath start to come out evenly and his heart - which was placed directly underneath her hand - seemed to return to normal speed. _Grey's Anatomy seems to be good in handing out tips on how to calm distressed patients down. I'm never going to mock it again._

Elves came bursting into the room then, obviously having heard Frodo's less-than-quiet shouts and protests. She placed a spare finger to her lips to signal silence. They (rather reluctantly) complied but not without shooting the not-quite-human questionable looks as they quietly exited the room, to which Alice ignored them.

The door creaked shut and Alice was half-afraid that it would wake the sleeping Hobbit currently curled up against her side by it didn't. After checking that he was in fact asleep, she made a move to extract herself from him but as soon as she moved, his hand shot up and grabbed on to her slender wrist. She almost gasped from the sudden contact. When she attempted to move away, his grip tightened to the point that to move would have resulted in a dislocated shoulder.

So, she sat down against the edge of the bed, feeling the soft Elven material woven with intricate designs that someone like Alice wouldn't _dare _even attempt to try. She felt somewhat uncomfortable, what with acting as a makeshift pillow for the poor Hobbit as he was peacefully sleeping. She just hoped that he wasn't the type to dribble unexpectedly in his sleep. That would be the epitome of awkward.

Frodo let loose a moan of pain suddenly and his grip on Alice tightened to a level that was almost unbearable. He started thrashing around once again, still asleep, however. Alice tried to calm him down again but it was a vain attempt. He was dangerously close to awakening and trying to explain to Middle-Earth's saviour why she was laying in bed with him, holding his hand...well, it just wasn't exactly something that Alice could see going down well. _Damn it,_ she cursed, _if only these places came installed with TVs where they could just watch something to sleep_.

Oh.

An idea came to her then. Frodo may not have ever watched television but she had. And she watched it _a lot_. She could practically recite half of the programmes word-for-word. Although she wasn't sure what she should tell him to calm him down. And something told her that reciting _Spongebob Squarepants_ wouldn't cut it. He appeared to be the type to be more lulled by stories that seem similar to his, however, the only programme she could think of was the American _Game of Thrones_.

Frodo let out a terrible groan. His fingernails dug fiercely into Alice's skin and she fought to let out a hiss of pain. To do so would probably cause the Hobbit to wake up and take note of her presence, and that was the one thing Alice couldn't afford.

He groaned once again, this time accompanied with a long, drawn-out note and, in the heat of the moment, Alice panicked and began retelling the infamous television programme that kept her occupied many times during her spare moments.

"Once upon a time," she blurted out, "there was a land called Westeros and it was ruled by an old drunken man who went by the name of Robert from the house Baratheon. He was in an unhappy marriage with his wife, Cersei from the house Lannister, however, he didn't much care as he was keeping himself company with all the ladies of the court."

And so there she was, rambling on about the controversial television series to a Hobbit she'd never met (not that she'd met a lot of Hobbits, but still). She told him the basics of the fictional world and about Robert Baratheon and the Iron Throne, along with all the ruling of the Seven Kingdoms that went along with it.

She also told him about the Hand of the King and the Lannister family, although she left out the little detail about Cersei and Jamie. After all, she didn't know the sleeping form laying against her and she wasn't sure how he would take the prospect of incest. _Not too well, I'd wager_. _But then again, not a lot of people back home would_.

So she ignored that little detail out for now, saving it for when she would get to know him better. _If_ she got to know him better. She faltered slightly at her story-telling to ponder the thought. _Did_ she want to know him better? A part of her wanted to get to know him. He seemed like a rather interesting Hobbit and she felt both pity and admiration for him by carrying this 'Ring' all the way here. From what she'd gathered from Gandalf and Stri- _Aragorn_, she knew that it couldn't have been an easy feat. But by admitting that she wanted to get to know him would be saying that she wanted to stay here and that was a lie.

She was brought out of her reverie from a small sigh from the sleeping Hobbit curled up against her side and she realised that she had yet to finish her story-telling.

"Well, it was when the Hand of the King – Jon Arryn – died from mysterious causes, suspected poison, that the King went all the way to Winterfell, that's the North area of Westeros, seeking out his long-time friend, Eddard Stark. He took half of King's Landing with him as well, including his wife and their three children. In return, Lord Stark brought his wife and five children and his bastard son–uhm," she broke off at the end with a nervous glance at Frodo. Like she'd said earlier, she wasn't used to the Hobbit and didn't know how he'd react to her openly swearing. She consoled herself with the knowledge that he was fast asleep and wasn't even properly listening in the first place, and carried on:

"Robert Baratheon and Lord Stark quickly excused themselves as soon as the arrived. They both went down into the Wintefell cellars– which, in reality, is more like an underground cemetery but with statues instead of proper graves – to visit Eddard's younger sister who died and was buried there. You see, Robert was in love with her, but she was killed before they could get married properly. There, the King proposed that Lord Stark become the new Hand and also suggested that his eldest son, Joffrey Baratheon, should marry Lord Stark's eldest daughter, Sansa. At first, the Lord of Winterfell was hesitant to accept either one of those propositions but he gradually came around to the idea of becoming the new Hand.

"His wife, however, was not. She insisted that he didn't take it; that he stay in Winterfell with them. Also, her sister's husband was the previous Hand to the King, you know, the one that was poisoned, and so she didn't want to take any chances, but he didn't listen to her–"

The door opened suddenly and Alice stopped narrating as she jumped in shock. The Wizard Gandalf appeared in the opening bearing a small smile that quickly escalated into a frown as he saw the position the two of them were in.

Alice held up her hands in a '_What else could I do?_' gesture, pointing to the sleeping Hobbit, but being careful enough to not wake him. Gandalf pursed his lips together before nodding somewhat stiffly.

He walked over to where Alice was and placed a rough hand on her shoulder. He had noticed her bloodshot eyes as soon as he walked into the room and knew that she was fighting exhaustion.

"Go on," he whispered in her ear, "go on back to your room. I can keep him company, at least until he wakes up."

Alice shot him a grateful smile as she set about the task of untangling herself from Frodo's limbs. It wasn't as easy as one might make it seem. After a few moments, she managed to break free and she stood up on shaky feet. "Goodnight, Gandalf," she whispered to him as they exchanged smiles and pleasantries. She turned to the poor Hobbit, the one she had been rambling on to, and gave him a small smile as she whispered, "Goodnight," to him also.

Gandalf smirked to himself as he watched her walk out of the room. This was going to be interesting, he thought. Very interesting indeed.


End file.
